She'll Run Again
by Emma15
Summary: Post IMTOD. The Winchester Family takes a step towards healing.
1. Sam

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Supernatural

**Author's Note**: These one-shots don't even begin to cover the fall-out of "In My Time of Dying." It's just something that has been on my mind. Any healing that is does... has to be done with the entire family present.

Thank you for reading.

* * *

They'd burned the body.

They'd stood there and watched as fire consumed yet another chunk of their lives.

The tears had slid down his cheeks without permission. His breathing had betrayed him and soon the tears were accompanied by sobs.

He'd stared at the flickering flames and cried; cried for all their senseless arguments, cried for all the years they'd lost, cried for all things stolen from them...

He'd cried for a man he'd never really known, for a man he'd loved more than he'd known...

Dean hadn't.

Dean only stared at the fire, the dancing flames reflected in his eyes.

So Sam had cried enough for the both of them. He'd cried until he couldn't see anymore, until his voice faded, until his knees gave out and he sank to them. He'd cried until Dean's hand had found his shoulder and he'd been able to turn into his brother. Until he'd felt Dean's hands slowly run through his hair. Until the fire had turned to embers and Dean's hands had slid under his arms and hauled him up. Until exhaustion had ushered him into the welcome blankness of sleep.

Bobby's hand on his shoulder startled him, made him blink at the older man who was saying something to him, to _them..._

Dean stood at his side-- silently. Dean had been very silent lately, very _still. _His body was healing quickly, his spirit not so much. Sam had tried to talk to him, tried to get Dean to open up to him, but the effort had been fruitless.

Dean's response to his questions, to his nagging, to his _pushing _had deepened the growing horror Sam felt.

There had been no anger in response, not even a glare, nothing but silence. Dean had sat there, silently taking in everything Sam had to say, but he made no move to respond, no move to leave the room-- no move at all.

He'd sat there and stared at Sam with eyes so empty the younger man had wanted to scream.

Bobby motioned for them to follow him. He was taking them to the Impala. He'd started work on it, he said, there was still a lot left to do...

The older man's voice carried on, but Sam's gaze fastened on Dean as they rounded the corner of the house and approached the Imapala.  
A week ago he'd looked at the car and dreaded the fury his brother would unleash at the sight of it-- now he hoped for nothing more than to see it. A flicker of it even; he hoped to see something, _anything _on his brother's face...

This stillness, this quietness that had enveloped Dean was terrifying him. His brother spoke only when necessary, he answered questions softly, he stared off into space, he didn't ask questions, didn't initiate anything-- no conversations, no decisions... he'd retreated to a place where Sam could not reach him. A place Sam couldn't even see.

And even as they stood in front of the devastation that had once been his brother's precious baby, that had once been _Dad's car _and studied the mess it was in-- there was nothing on his brother's face. Dean stared at the Impala with emotionless, oddly dark eyes.

Somehow, the Impala managed to look worse than the last time Sam had seen it. Bobby had stripped it and was apparently working on the frame. There were tables set up around it with tools and parts on them. There were tarps and a creeper nearby too. The area was ready to be used, ready to restore the Impala... and Dean gazed at it all with disinterest.

Bobby was talking again. Something about food and inside and getting late...

Sam turned to follow the older man, but stopped, because Dean did not move.

His brother remained still, his eyes on the Impala.

Sam eyes met Bobby's and after a moment the older man nodded, leaving the brothers alone.

Sam shifted and watched Dean, as Dean watched the Impala.

A moment later Dean began taking a slow, deliberate steps towards the wreckage.

Sam watched as his brother reached the car; watched as Dean extended a hand out to the wreckage and touched the metal of the frame; watched as Dean slowly wrapped his hand around the ruined steel.

And suddenly Sam couldn't breathe, because _something _flashed across his brother's face, so quickly he couldn't identify, but it _something _nonetheless.

Without realizing it, he'd moved closer. Close enough to see that Dean had a white-knuckled grip on the metal, close enough to see the unfocused intensity burning in his brother's gaze.

Dean came into sharp focus as the world blurred around him. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't speak. Dean was looking at something Sam couldn't see; his minds eye turned to a world Sam never knew.

His brother was standing at the edge of a precipice looking down and Sam had no idea what to do, no idea if there _was_ anything he could do...

"Dean." He whispered... a reassurance, a question, a plea...

A jagged noise left his brother's throat, so low Sam barely heard it.

"We... we can fix it..." he offered softly, but the words sounded hollow even to him.

They couldn't fix this.

It wasn't about the Impala.

Their world would never be right again.

His breath hitched suddenly. God... things would never be right again...

"Dean..." he whispered again; lower this time, no reassurance, only a question, only a plea...

He needed his brother.

But Dean remained silent, without moving. His head bowed slightly towards the Impala, his hand still fisted around the metal...

He needed Dean to wake up from whatever dream-state he'd fallen into. He needed his brother shake the silence and stillness off and tell him what to do, where they were going... what was going to happen now...

He needed Dean to be okay.

Because losing Dad made it hard to breathe, made it hard to think; losing Dad shook the foundation of everything he'd ever known, it hurt in a way he could never have imagined... but Dean... he _needed _Dean to be okay, because anything less-- because a world where Dean wasn't-- he didn't know _how _to breathe or think or even _be _in a world like that...

The moment stretched and pulled and enveloped them both blurring time and then Dean moved; shifting his weight forward, bringing his other arm up.

Reverently he leaned against the frame and lowered his head to rest on the Impala before holding still again.

Sam stared at the gesture, something tightening in his chest. There was nothing Sam could say to him right now. Nothing that would matter.

There was a connection between the Impala, Dad, and Dean that Sam had never been privy to. A bond that was born before his memories began.

He swallowed hard and slowly leaned back against the wreckage, then he shifted closer to Dean, so their shoulder's were touching.

There was nothing he could say, but there was something he could do.

He could wait.

He could stay.

He closed his eyes and lowered his head...he didn't know, would never really know how long they stood there like that... time melted, leaving them alone with the memories.

They and the Impala...

The sun had long since met the horizon when he felt Dean shift a little. It wasn't much, but it was something other than the stillness and Sam lifted his head to look over at his brother.

"We'll fix her," he offered again, his voice surprisingly deep, as if he'd been crying.

The words had slipped out, he didn't know what else to say...

The silence stretched and expanded and he resigned himself to more waiting when Dean shifted again and lifted those dark, hazel eyes.

Sam felt that gaze like a punch to gut; it left him winded and shaky.

Dean's lashes clumped together, tear streaks were visible down his pale cheeks and his eyes were so somber they made Sam's heart clench...

His brother had been _crying. _

Silent, still tears while he'd stood there and said nothing.

But the eyes were dry now. They were dry and steady; glimmering with something Sam couldn't really identify... but rejoiced in anyway, because it was _something _and anything was better than the emptiness of the past week...

"No."

Dean's voice startled him. It was low and scratchy and somehow it sounded so _young._

"She'll... run again... but she won't be... _fixed_... she'll never... be right again..."

Sam swallowed hard, tears burning his eyes. His hand was on Dean's shoulder suddenly, gripping it as tightly as Dean held on to the Impala, "No," he agreed softly, "... but she'll... run, right?" he whispered, "She's been... through so much... this... it looks bad... it looks... impossible... but... _we _can do it... we _can_... she'll-- she'll run again..."

Sam felt a tear slip down his cheek.

Dean's gaze went back to the Impala. It rested there and Sam waited, his hand on Dean's shoulder-- he stayed.

Slowly, Dean pulled away from the car, dropping his arms to his side and lifting his head to look at Sam.

Sam watched a tear slip down his brother's cheek.

"Yeah, Sammy..." he murmured, "... she'll run again..."

* * *


	2. Dean

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Supernatural

* * *

They'd burned the body.

They'd given fire yet one more chunk of their lives.

He'd watched the flames dance and flicker. It had always seemed particularly ironic to him that such a monstrous creation had the power to be so enchanting. Fire could hypnotize, it could warm, give life; it was the sign of civilization, it gave _light... _

Fire could be beautiful.

He'd known he should feel something. He'd watched, with the most curious sense of detachment, the body - his father - burn, watched until ashes was all that remained. He'd watched until the dancing flames had turned into glowing embers. He'd watched until Sam's sobs had penetrated; until it reached some far off part of his consciousness that his little brother was no longer standing at his side, that he was on the ground, that he was sobbing; until an automatic response emblazed in his soul - to protect, to comfort, to _be there _- kicked in and he reached out to Sam.

He'd helped his brother into Bobby's truck. He'd let Sam lay his head on his shoulder. He'd let Sam talk, because he knew... Sammy always needed to talk. And then he'd listened to his baby brother's deep breathing and wondered if he'd ever sleep like that again.

He'd let Sam talk before too. He'd let Sam pour out all the reasons why this was wrong and couldn't be right, let his little brother cry and scream because it was Sammy and Sammy always had to cry and scream...

He'd let Sam tell him that they needed to talk, that _he _needed to talk, that he needed to tell Sam what he was feeling, that he needed to grieve, that holding it in wasn't healthy.

But there was nothing to say, nothing to express; there was nothing.

He didn't know how to tell Sammy that. He didn't know how to tell his brother that when he tried to... feel, to understand... there was nothing.

No grief, no anger-- nothing, but a chilling numbness. A chill that had been with him from the moment he'd sat up in bed; that had spread when Sam had told him

The numbing chill had enveloped him. Even now, in the sun, walking with Sam and Bobby, even now that chill wouldn't leave him. It made it hard to hear voices, hard to think, hard to care...

He could feel Sam's gaze on him. Sam had been looking at him a lot lately. Studying him, waiting for something, something Dean couldn't really give him...

Dad was gone.

Just like that--

After everything--

Gone.

His mind rejected that word. Rejected everything it had heard and seen since the doctor had said: _time of death 10:41 AM. _

Nothing made sense after that. Nothing could ever make sense.

It took him a moment to realize they'd stopped moving-- his body attuned to Sam's even from amid the chill.

It took him another moment to realize that the destruction in front of him was his baby.

The Impala.

Or what was left of her.

His baby was broken. As broken as everything else...

God...

The Impala...

He felt Sam move next to him and almost followed-- but didn't-- _couldn't..._

She was naked out here; stripped of all her glory and fire. She looked vulnerable and alone... she looked abandoned... _orphaned..._

He was moving before he'd realized he wanted to get closer, before he realized that he needed to _be _there... to _touch _her...

The steel felt cold in his hand.

God.

It was such a mess.

The Impala.

Everything.

He couldn't do this... he couldn't process this... how could he understand something like this? How could he _feel _something like this? It was too big...

He lowered his head, suddenly it was just too heavy to hold up. It wasn't right... this wasn't right... such a _mess... _

This was...

_Dad's car._

And it was supposed to be big and aggressive and roar when you turned the key...

It wasn't supposed to sit here in silence, naked, torn open, all the parts scattered...

This was _Dad's car..._

_Dad._

It happened then. Just a prickling, but it happened-- the numbness parted and he _felt _the _wrongness _of this... of a world without Dad...

"Dean."

God, Sammy...

A world without Dad... how could that exist? How was he expected to just... go on... without Dad... without the hope of ever... seeing him...

It washed over him then. An agony so deep he couldn't breathe, only gasp. A sound of surprise, of realization... of terror...

"We... we can fix it..."

_No. _His mind screamed. We can't.

A world without Dad...

He'd failed... god, he'd... _failed. _He'd tried so hard... he'd promised himself... no matter what... this wouldn't end them... this quest wouldn't end them... but, christ... Dad was gone... and how... _how...?_

"Dean."

Sam was saying his name, Sam wanted something... but he couldn't move. He couldn't think...

The wreckage of the Impala was under his hands... the wreckage of their lives surrounded him. A lifetime seeking revenge and just like that... it was over.

Dad was dead.

Gone.

It was his now-- the quest.

He had to finish it, because Dad had started it-- it had to be finished. He moved, leaned more of his weight on the wreckage, lowered his head a little more as the swell of grief rose higher...

His Dad had asked him to.

_Finish it, son_

His Dad had said other things too... god, his Dad had said too much, handed over a burden that was too heavy... he didn't know _how..._

Sam was there suddenly, his shoulder touching Dean's; his warmth spreading through Dean's chilled body, trying valiantly to chase the numbness away...

Sammy.

They'd all been together... on the same page, for the first time maybe ever... for the first time Dad had made them a team, not a unit. They'd all been truly together... and now...

Now...

They'd given up so much already... not Dad... they shouldn't... god, it wasn't _fair..._

He wasn't ready. He couldn't carry this weight... he couldn't finish it... not without Dad...

A sob rose up in his chest and he realized suddenly that his face was wet, that his eyes were burning, and that his grip on the Impala was probably going to leaving indentations.

But he couldn't let go... he couldn't let go of the breath - sob - and he couldn't let go of the Impala... he couldn't move at all. All he could do was stand there as tears flowed down his face and the warmth Sam's shoulder had offered spread...

It thawed the chill but underneath the chill there was so much _pain _he almost wanted it back...

Almost.

_Finish it, son_

His Dad had trusted him, relied on him...

He couldn't fail again. No.

The tears slowed after that. A decision had been made. The numbness had dissipated.

It was the _weight _of the decision, the _pain _of it, that held him in place now.

He would finish it; for his Dad, he would finish it. There was no other choice. It had been his Dad's last order and Dean had always followed orders...

He released a slow breath and then shifted a little.

"We'll fix her."

Sammy sounded hoarse-- like he'd been crying too. He listened for a moment; examining his brother's breathing... waiting for a hitch or anything else that denoted crying.

Nothing came though.

A moment later he lifted his head and studied Sam.

His little brother was watching him with wide eyes; scared and hesitant and ready... ready for whatever Dean wanted...

_We'll fix her..._

Oh, Sammy.

"No."

He said the word without meaning to, but once it had escaped the others followed. The car would never be the same again-- _nothing _would ever be the same again.

He told Sam that, as best he could-- the words were halting, but he tried...

"Okay... but she'll... run, right?" his little brother whispered and Dean's heart clenched.

God-- they had to move forward... they had to _run_ and when they did...

Dad... wouldn't be there... wouldn't be an option...

Dad was gone and all he'd left was the quest...

"She's been... through so much... this... it looks bad... it looks... impossible... but..." Sammy continued, with that earnestness and that determination that was so essentially _him, _"... _we _can do it..." he told Dean and when Sam said, when Sam looked at him like that, he almost believed him, "... we _can_... she'll-- she'll run again..."

The weight of his brother's hand on his shoulder was a surprise; it felt steady, as steady as the eyes watching him with earnest determination.

Dad was gone...

A tear slipped down Sam's face.

Dean shifted his gaze to the Impala-- Dad's car...

_His car._

It was only his now.

Dad was gone.

Sam's hand was still on his shoulder-- waiting, steady, _there..._

Dad was gone... but there was more than the quest... there was Sam...

He pulled away slowly, dropping his arms to his side, straightening as he lifted his gaze to Sam's.

Dad was gone, but they were left-- they were together.

He felt a tear slip down his cheek, "Yeah, Sammy," he murmured, "... she'll run again..."

* * *

**Author's Note**: Thank you for reading! 


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